I balance my wings as wind comes my way strong enough to hold me aloft, and yet perceived movement is slow, if not, stalled.  

I pause, heavy and sad. The lids on my eyes struggle to lift. There is grief and disbelief that my brother has passed, and yet, I feel him here. When I’m asked how I am when I’m out and about, I tell some and not others.  I give myself time to pause as I decide whether I have the energy to share my grief.

I realize the impulse to share comes through the eyes.  I look to see if there is a place to connect, if the eyes I’m meeting lay down a path on which to step, stop, speak.

I’m with Rumi this morning, a 13th century Persian poet. His poem “Birdwings” translated by Coleman Barks speaks to me, though I’m still looking for the “joyful face”.  I trust that face is here.

Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror

up to where you’re bravely working.

Expecting the worst, you look, and instead,

here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.

Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.

If it were always a fist or always stretched open,

you would be paralyzed.

Your deepest presence

is in every small contracting and expanding,

the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated

as birdwings.

Do you see the purple flower?

2 thoughts on “Day 26: Surrender

  1. Ah, the purple flower! So easily overlooked if we are not truly seeing. Perhaps this is what you look for when you are discerning what to share with whom. Perhaps those who notice the purple flower have the spaciousness and presence to truly see and receive you.

    Blessings on your beautiful grief, which uou so generously reveal to us.

    Like

    1. So beautifully said, Elaine. Yes!
      I think of Georgia O’Keefe’s words:
      “Nobody sees a flower – really – it is so small it takes time – we haven’t time – and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.”
      Yes, it’s like that, knowing who has time, receiving the connection, a bridge shared. Yes!

      Like

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